Foundations
by liketolaugh
Summary: Edward Elric was a mutant. He didn't like it any more than anyone else did, but of course, when he lost control, he got sent to the Institute anyway. There, he might find more than just his control. And some things aren't better left alone.
1. Up in Flames

**A/N: This is a pretty little prize I've been working on for a while. And by working on, I mean starting to write and then resetting because it was crap, or because I needed a new plot and the intro no longer worked, or other such things. BUT, I feel that the FMA fandom needs a story along these lines. (All of my other favorite ones do!) So please enjoy!**

**Title: Foundations**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Angst/Adventure**

**Warnings: AU**

**Summary: If Edward was one thing, he was fire. But if he wasn't careful, he was going to burn himself out. Or, Edward Elric is a mutant, Mustang disapproves of him almost burning down the office, and the Xavier Institute is wary of military operatives no matter how old they are.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist or the X-Men, would I really be here right now?**

* * *

Heat.

Fever heat pulsed through Ed's body, suffocating him and shortening his breath as pain shot through him, razor sharp, huge, all-consuming spikes of _pain, _agony, _hislegwasgoneithurtnonono._

Edward screamed, long and loud, clutching at the bleeding stump of his leg. Heat pulsed, reverberated, building, building. Ed screamed, the sound harsh and grating and nerve-wracking, terrified and hurt, senses overwhelmed by the unforgiving sensations, too much for him to take all at once.

There wasn't enough air.

Edward started to gasp for breath, chest heaving, and he forced his eyes wide open, jerking his head to the side, where Al's clothes lay abandoned. The heat built higher and his blood rushed, moving, moving, heatheatheat. Horror and terror competed for his attention; both lost to denial.

"Dammit!" Ed gasped, turning over, bloodstained hands releasing his stump to drag him forward. Heat built and swarmed in his chest, contesting the pain, which seared his mind, nerves screaming, shrieking at his leg's sudden absence. "This can't be happening! It can't be!" He gasped for breath. There wasn't enough air. It hurt. It _hurt. _"This wasn't supposed to-" Nothing went right, they were supposed to have their mother back, and just- "He's gone, what've I done?"

This was supposed to bring their family back _together, _dammit! Not make everything, everything- Al. Al! _Al!_

Ed collapsed onto his side, breathing hard and harsh, biting back the pain, the heat. "Somebody help me," he whimpered. Too hot. It overwhelmed even the pain now, building, _too much, _stop it, stop it, _stop it. _He was blind with it, the pain, the heat. It _hurt. _"Please, Mom. Mom, please." Please _stopstopstop… _Anything to stop it, _please…_

Ed opened his eyes again, trying to focus, focus on where their Mom should be, intact and alive.

Instead, there was a monster, nowhere near human, mouth gaping open, lying in a pool of blood, staring. Staring at _Ed._

Suddenly, it all spilled over. Ed threw his head back and screamed, loud, long, and haunting. The heat spilled over, and suddenly, there was fire.

"No!" he screamed. "No, this is wrong! This isn't what we wanted!" It didn't matter anymore. Fire swarmed around him, burning up the wooden floor, approaching the creature, the _thing _they'd made. It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that he couldn't feel the fire, just the pain, no more heat but his own. It didn't matter, because… "Al! Alphonse! _Alphonse!"_

Around Edward, the world burned, but all that mattered was Alphonse.

Alphonse had never expected to wake up, but he did, slowly.

He took in his surroundings uncertainly, eyes widening. _No._

Firelight was all that lit the room now, but it was everywhere; the room was burning, consuming everything. Already, it was collapsing around them, fiery beams falling and crashing against the floor, and panic filtered into Al's slowed mind. They had to get out of there.

He turned his head one way, then another. There wasn't a spot in the room that wasn't covered in flame, but-

Al didn't feel hot. Not even a little.

Wait, no, Ed! Where was Ed?

Before he could start to panic too much, Al looked down, and his eyes widened again. At his feet (too far down, what was going on, was that _armor-)_ Ed was staring up at him with tearstained eyes burning with determined fire, a bloody bandage around a stump of a left leg, hand clutching at his right shoulder, and he was saying something, what-

"I'm sorry, Al. All I could get for an arm was your soul."

Fire swirled around him, but he didn't seem to notice. Even as Al watched, stunned, struggling to understand what Ed's words meant (even if it was clear, it couldn't really, Ed didn't really- it couldn't really mean-) fire licked over his remaining leg and he only screwed up his face, the color draining away.

He was still bleeding.

Wait- he was still bleeding!

"Ed!"

Curiosity and confusion could wait. Al had to get Ed out, _now, _or he would bleed to death right in front of him.

Al couldn't feel the fire, either.

Al picked up his panting brother, who was struggling to keep a hold on consciousness, wide gold eyes fixed on Al, pain shining clear, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. Al wasn't even sure Ed could still see him.

"Al," Ed rasped, hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Hold on, Brother," Al cried, worried his brother might not even be able to hear him at this point, and smashed his way out of the burning out, which was coming down behind him.

_He shouldn't be able to do that…_

It didn't matter. Ed mattered.

"Al," Ed repeated, quiet, almost inaudible. Then gold eyes slid shut, and Al tried not to scream.

"Brother!"

He ran toward the Rockbells, the first place that came to his mind, and their childhood home collapsed behind them, firelight flickering in the night.

* * *

**So that's that beginning. By the way, this is probably going to be, like, the only shortish chapter, because the next one is a solid 7k and I don't want to have one 7k chapter and a whole mess of 1-2k ones. Also, in case anyone was curious, the fanfics that made me so obsessive over making one of these (and were therefore my main inspiration) were ****Wolverines, Wendigos, and Winchesters**** by SciFiNutTX (Supernatural, Dean), the ****It's All in the Mind**** series by inukagome15 (Avengers, Tony), and ****Mutant Storm**** by Bobmin356 (Harry Potter, Harry). If anyone knows any others along those lines, I'd love to hear it. (They're some of the best stories EVER.)**

**Also, I know that in canon, they burned the house down deliberately, but this fits better with this universe. Please bear with it! (And the stolen dialogue!)**

**Anyway, please review!**


	2. A Little Hot-Tempered

**A/N: Seriously, guys? Seriously? *pout* I would like to inform all of you that you have only the anonymous reviewer Boop to thank for this chapter, because I was withholding it until I got my first review. Now that the first review has been gotten, one of the BEST CHAPTERS I have EVER FREAKING MADE can be released. (It took me three days to write and two more to edit.) (And that's not counting the number of first attempts to write this crossover.) (That took months.)**

**Title: Foundations**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Angst/Adventure**

**Warnings: AU**

**Summary: If Edward was one thing, he was fire. But if he wasn't careful, he was going to burn himself out. Or, Edward Elric is a mutant, Mustang disapproves of him almost burning down the office, and the Xavier Institute is wary of military operatives no matter how old they are.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist or the X-Men, would I really be here right now?**

* * *

There had always been something odd about Fullmetal. Something about his eyes, the way they blazed. The way his voice simmered with heat when he was angry. The way he moved – like a wild thing, people said. Mustang disagreed.

He'd worked with fire too long not to recognize one when he saw it.

And Edward _was _fire. His temperament, scorching when angered and warm when pleased, was fire; his appearance, gold hair flickering in the sunlight, color bright with anger or excitement, was fire; and just as much, his emotions were a bright, roiling bonfire, intense and ever-changing, only just barely kept in control. He was fire, and Mustang knew it.

Mustang didn't find out why, though; not until the first time he personally went on an assignment with Fullmetal, in the boy's first year with the military.

It was just a trial; meant to see for himself how true the burgeoning legends were. Scarcely three months in the military, and already tales were spreading about the twelve-year-old Fullmetal Alchemist. Mustang was both proud and curious. And curious alchemists always sought out answers.

They'd chased the rogue alchemist into a warehouse. A dead end; there would be nowhere for him to go. This in mind, they'd gotten cocky and overconfident (Mustang was still bemused at Ed's previous action of collapsing the ground under the alchemist – really, it was a wonder he'd gotten out) and went in without securing the building, exactly the way you weren't supposed to.

It was an ambush. There were several men waiting inside, and they struck the moment the two State Alchemists entered the building.

It was a short fight; all eight men went down in the first five minutes. But in the chaos, the alchemist darted back out and, somehow, he got a hold of Fullmetal, held a knife to his throat, with his left arm twisted painfully, too far from his right to even consider touching (as said, the boy's talent was _legend)._

The moment Mustang had caught sight of them, he'd frozen. The world had paused and the man had grinned. Fullmetal's gold eyes were wide, fixed on Mustang. Not as frightened as he'd been in those first days, but very far from unconcerned. (That would change, Mustang knew.)

It went as one would expect; the man demanded surrender, Mustang hesitated, and the man pressed the blade to Fullmetal's exposed throat, drawing a thin line of blood, twisting the arm a little further.

Mustang would remember what happened next very, very clearly.

Fullmetal's eyes widened. His breathing picked up. He squirmed, started to hyperventilate, only pressing the blade further into his throat. His eyes squeezed shut, looking like he was in pain, or like he was trying very, very hard to suppress something, head bowing forward.

Then his cheeks flushed, the way they sometimes did when he was very, very angry. His mouth opened, his head was thrown back. His fists clenched convulsively.

Finally, a spark flared – somewhere around his chest, Mustang would later guess – and fire, bright and hot, blazed up from his collar to encompass his neck and head, and then began to flicker out the edge of his clothes – the end of his left sleeve and the top of his right boot, especially.

Someone had yelled; it might have either been him or the man. Maybe both. The man let go as if burned (which he was, Mustang supposed) and Fullmetal jerked away, twisted, and lashed out at him, like he wasn't burning at all. A gradient of orange shimmered on his face, flickering with hints of white, and flames twisted into Fullmetal's characteristic braid trailed after his head as he turned, left fist making contact with the unfortunate man's face, flickering flames lapping at white-gloved fingers.

The man went down, blisters already emerging where he'd dared to touch Fullmetal. The smoldering boy backed away, familiar golden eyes untouched by the fire, still wide, still frightened.

Light, flickering tongues of flame licked a face like fire made solid as Fullmetal's eyes turned to Mustang.

That was the day Mustang learned about the x-gene.

* * *

Ed was just barely thirteen years old when the rumors started.

Amestris was going to enact an X-Gene Mutant Identification law, or the XMI protocol.

It was odd, actually; previous to this, there were only a very few people in the military who even knew what a mutant _was. _But when Mustang first said it, casually, his eyes had scanned the room, sharp and discerning.

Hawkeye had looked to him, gaze shrewd and narrow. Ed had looked up, eyes widening, hand pausing in its illegible scrawling, and Al had frozen. Those two knew, of course, and apparently, so did Hawkeye, which had come as something of a surprise, though not so much in hindsight.

Falman, too, had known, though he hadn't yet heard of the rumors, because his eyebrows shot up on his head and a frown appeared on his face.

The others were less informed. Breda frowned, brow furrowed, trying to dredge up any memory he might have of real-life mutants (aside, of course, from chimeras) and Fuery looked puzzled, which Mustang took to mean that the rumors may well be unfounded (the higher-ups, of course, denied everything). Havoc frowned, too, outright confused, and asked aloud what the hell a mutant was.

Fair enough. Most mutants were found in America. That may be where the rumors came from, come to think of it; there was talk of one there, too, though nothing official on that end, either.

It was shortly after that that Ed's behavior changed slightly. He was more irritable, jumpier, and as close to anxious as they'd ever seen him away from immediate, obvious danger.

Though much of the office was a little worried for the kid who'd been with them for a full year now, Mustang didn't think much of it; after all, Fullmetal probably had the most to worry about if such an act was passed. Though the official policy on mutants was to, essentially, ignore them, Mustang (and Fullmetal) were both aware that many people had no goodwill for mutantkind. Besides that, there was, of course, Alphonse.

It had been a year since Fullmetal had joined the military – a year of constant, intense effort, met with only failure. A trying experience, even for a boy like Edward Elric. Maybe especially for a boy like Edward – Mustang wondered if he'd ever truly failed at anything before this.

Of course, he'd only attempted the impossible once before.

Mustang would have dismissed it. Then Edward popped in for a report and ducked Havoc's hand when the man brought it up to ruffle his hair playfully, leaving the blond man blinking in surprise.

Mustang would have dismissed that, too – most teenage boys abhorred touch, and Ed had always been somewhat more reluctant than most to accept the friendly contact.

But he avoided Breda's slap on the back, too.

And Fuery's hand to the shoulder.

And he wouldn't shake Falman's hand.

"Fullmetal? What's wrong?"

Never let it be said that Mustang did not look after his men.

Fullmetal shuffled, mutinously scowling. Al murmured something to him and he stilled, but the scowl didn't go away. Al sighed, resigned and exasperated, but clearly unsurprised. He must have been in a foul mood for most of the day.

"I'm fine," Fullmetal snapped, arms crossed, glaring at the ground somewhere to Mustang's left.

"I'm sure," Mustang agreed. Fullmetal was always 'fine', but Mustang wondered if he was ever 'good', or, god forbid, 'happy'. He also wondered if Fullmetal actually thought he was fooling anyone. "Now why don't you explain why you are so _blatantly _refusing to let anyone touch you?"

Fullmetal's head snapped up, and the boy glared at him with venemous gold eyes.

"Gee, Mustang, I didn't realize molestation was part of my contract," he said sarcastically, muscles clenching and unclenching with nervous energy. Al made a little noise of protest.

"Brother, don't be rude!"

Fullmetal sighed and forced himself to relax again. "Sorry, Al." No apology was forthcoming for Mustang. He knew better than to expect one, anyway. Fullmetal rarely apologized to anyone outside his little brother.

Mustang didn't have the patience for this. Or the time; he had a stack of paperwork nearly as tall as Fullmetal waiting on his desk. "Hold out your arm."

"What?" Ed blinked, completely thrown, which had the happy side effect of dissipating his temper entirely.

"Prove you're fine. Hold out your arm." Mustang's gaze didn't waver, settled firmly on his most troublesome subordinate, who insisted on causing more trouble than all the rest put together, most of which took the form of an irritating, bothersome sort of worry. (The rest was in the form of paperwork.)

Now Fullmetal looked trapped, and rightly so; he couldn't refuse without admitting something was wrong, and he couldn't obey without Mustang finding out what.

Fullmetal scowled and held out his arm, mutiny in the set of his mouth, gaze burning a hole in the floor.

Mustang slipped off his glove and reached out, settling his fingers firmly on Fullmetal's flesh arm. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he found.

Fullmetal's arm was warm to the touch. Fever warm. Actually, beyond fever warm – more the mantle of a recently used fireplace.

Mustang waited in silence for just long enough to make Fullmetal uncomfortable, and then said, cool and composed, "Let's try this again. Fullmetal. What's wrong?"

Fullmetal ripped his arm away angrily. "Nothing! I'm _fine!"_

Mustang raised an eyebrow and glanced at his arm pointedly. Al shifted forward noisily and looked earnestly at Mustang. How a suit of armor could look more sincere than a boy barely in his teens, Mustang would never be quite sure.

"Brother's just stressed, is all," Al offered, gauntlet hands tucked neatly in his lap, slope of his shoulders unconcerned, head tipped up to meet Mustang's navy with his soulfire from his spot on the floor. "Because we haven't been getting very far."

Fullmetal scowled, crossing his arms again, and didn't meet either of their gazes. Typical Fullmetal guilt, at least when in denial thereof. (Mustang had seen Fullmetal's open guilt before. It was painful to watch.)

And Al was more likely to turn Fullmetal over to the hospital than to help him hide his problems, anyway. Mustang nodded, sure that, if nothing else, it was a small enough problem for the Elrics to deal with between themselves.

"Fine. But settle down soon. Getting _short-tempered _about it isn't going to solve anything."

Fullmetal bared his teeth at him, but stormed off instead of exploding, which Mustang felt boded ill, despite his newfound conclusion. Al looked apologetically at Mustang and then hurried after his irate older brother, already scolding him.

Mustang fingered the sticky note under his desk, which had been placed there just under a year before and which held a single phone number on the clean butter-yellow surface.

* * *

"Brother? Why didn't you tell the Colonel?"

Ed made an irritated noise at the back of his throat, fists clenched and back slightly hunched. "I told you, Al. I can handle it."

Al clanked along one step behind, hovering anxiously, helmet head turned to look at him. "But it's been happening for a month, and it's not getting better, it's getting _worse."_

Ever since shortly after Mustang had mentioned (ha, _mentioned, _like he hadn't done it just to see how they reacted)the rumors about the XMI protocol, Ed's control over his fire had been slipping, even if just a little.

Ed didn't think Al would have even noticed – it wasn't like his brother could feel his skin slowly getting hotter, Ed thought bitterly – if the extra concentration he needed to keep himself under control hadn't caused him to slip, make a stupid mistake, and get himself hurt. _(Another setback they didn't need.)_

Ed sighed, stopped, and spun to face his brother, expression set, fierce and firm. "I'm not gonna let this set us back, okay, Al? It was hard to control in the beginning, too, but I got it just fine." He'd adapt to this, just like he adapted to everything else.

Al pushed his index fingers together anxiously. Ed was missing the point. "But-"

"Al." Al stopped. Ed flashed him a cocky grin, the same one that never failed to make him feel just a little bit better, the one Ed used when he was hurt in a hospital bed or close to collapsing from exhaustion. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

That said, Ed spun back around and kept walking as if he'd never stopped, braid waving slightly with his pace. Al, not quite reassured, followed after.

* * *

After having left for a few weeks for a mission and the accompanying string of quests, Ed and Al had returned to East Command and had been lingering there for longer than usual – a full week now. Over that time, despite his own insistence, Ed had only grown edgier and more frustrated – nothing was working, none of the old tricks that he'd used when he was first learning to stamp it down did him any good now.

The other guys in the office had noticed, too. Case in point: Havoc.

On Don't-Touch-Me Week Eight, Havoc tracked the Elric brothers down after office hours to talk to them. He, being possibly the closest to the brothers (having had the most personal contact with them), had been the first to notice Ed's strange behavior and was the first to do something about it.

He found them in an empty hall, not far from the front door, and stopped them by placing himself bodily in front of them, which would get their attention, even if he knew it wouldn't do any good if they truly wanted to get away.

Sure enough, Ed glanced up at him, hands stuffed in his pockets and practically vibrating with tension, gold eyes unhappy. No wonder they were getting worried, Al thought privately.

He was, too.

"Hey, Havoc," Ed greeted quietly, like Havoc wasn't deliberately blocking their way. That was another thing; when he wasn't being very, very loud, Ed was being very, very quiet. The office had only seen this phenomenon once before, when they'd gotten to a rogue alchemist's base too late and found the mangled body of a small girl at the alchemist's feet. It, if nothing else, was a sure sign that something was wrong.

Havoc removed his cigarette from his lips and held it between his fingers, face serious. "Hey, boss."

"Something up?" Ed tilted his head expectantly at Havoc, unhappiness flickering away for the moment in favor of curiosity.

"Yeah, actually." Havoc squashed out his cigarette and flicked it away. This was not the time for distractions. Extracting information about the Elrics' wellbeing was not simple work. "Wanna tell me what's wrong? You've been avoiding us like the plague since you got back."

"I'm fine," Ed snapped defensively, bristling. Of course.

"No, you're not," Havoc said decisively. Now, the trick – OK, so there was no trick. Havoc kind of just threw words out and hoped he struck home; he didn't think his aim was that bad, either. "You won't let anyone touch you and you've been wound up tighter than a ball of string." Ed's head fell, the boy's gaze fixing resolutely on the ground, and Havoc sighed. "Look, boss-"

Ed, not looking at him anymore, didn't notice Havoc's hand reaching for his shoulder in time to do anything about it. Al's eyes widened as he realized its destination too late, reaching futilely with leather hands.

"Second Lieutenant, don't-!"

Havoc's hand fell firmly on Ed's shoulder and jerked away in half a second, like he'd gripped a hot metal pan.

_"Ouch!"_

Havoc stared at his hand in bewilderment and Ed's golden eyes jerked up, startled, settling on his hand and going wide. Al made a distressed sound.

Havoc stared at him, mouth slightly open, everything he'd intended to say wiped from his mind. Under his gaze, Ed's breathing sped up nervously, slight guilt lining his eyes.

"What-?"

Ed's eyes darted from Havoc's hand, to his eyes, back to his hand, which was turning bright pink from the burn. He flinched, hard.

He took one step back. Two. "Sorry, Second Lieutenant." Another. "Y-you might want to run that under some water." Another. He made as if to say something else, stopped, and then turned and ran.

"Brother!" Al yelped. He barely paused to glance at Havoc and say, "I'm sorry for him, Second Lieutenant. He really can't-" He cut himself off and ran after his brother, leaving Havoc holding his wrist, wondering what the _hell_ had just happened.

* * *

Al caught up to Ed just outside the building. "Brother!"

Ed stopped, but he didn't look up. He shifted from foot to foot, metal parts clicking almost unnoticeably with the movement, frowning pensively at the ground. Al caught up and stopped right next to him to look down and say reassuringly,

"It's okay, Brother. It was just a little burn."

It was a moment before Ed answered, and he still didn't move. "…Yeah, I know."

Al tilted his head, red orbs concerned. "Then what's wrong?"

A lot more than Ed was willing to admit to Al. He was the _big brother, _here; he should be able to deal with this himself, and instead, here he was, worrying his little brother with his complete _inability _to do so. The last thing he wanted was to worry him more, but Al could read him like a book. He always could.

Ed sighed, deflating. "It shouldn't have happened," he muttered, angry at himself, kicking aimlessly at the ground. A lot of things shouldn't have happened. "You're right, Al; this is getting worse, not better."

Al waited silently. If Ed was ready to tell him, he would. Instead, Ed sighed again, smiled tiredly, and rapped Al on the chest with one automail fist, a silent promise.

"I'm sure it's nothing, though. C'mon, let's get going."

Ed grinned and bounded off, and Al hurried after him.

"Brother! Don't run in the streets, you'll bowl someone over!"

The next morning, Havoc's hand was bandaged, white cloth tight around the clean burn, and Ed winced when he saw it, though it was quickly masked and he made no other outward indication of regret.

Regret, regret, regret. Sometimes, Ed felt like he regretted everything. Other times, he felt like he ought to.

His silver watch was heavy in his pocket, and his metal limbs heavy on his body.

Warmth pulsed through his body, thick under his skin, almost enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite. He took a deep breath, shoving his thoughts away, and it cooled a little.

* * *

Standing nearby and glaring at them all to do their paperwork, Hawkeye was close enough to hear when Breda muttered to Havoc,

"What happened?"

Havoc frowned, brow furrowed, and rubbed his wrist absently, unable to touch his hand without a spike of pain shooting through it. "It was the wierdest thing…" Seeing Breda's expectant look, he continued, "I touched the boss' shoulder, and it was as hot as a pan fresh off the stove." Even for _Ed, _that was weird. And there wasn't a lot they didn't expect from him anymore.

Breda's brow furrowed. "You sure? The _little _boss?" The men rarely referred to Mustang as 'boss', preferring 'Chief' for him and reserving 'boss' for Edward, but when it came to fire and burns it was better to make sure.

Havoc glanced up at him, every bit as confused as he was. "Yeah. Kid knew it, too. Looked just like I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar and ran off before I could ask him about it."

Ed, at least, knew what it was. Hawkeye suspected she did, too.

Having heard more than enough, Hawkeye stepped close to them, gun in her hands, and said pointedly, "Don't you two have work to do?"

Both men wisely flinched and put their heads down, getting back to work. Hawkeye stepped back again, letting her brown eyes rove over the room, settling only briefly on a quietly frowning Ed.

She hadn't been aware that the eldest Elric was a mutant.

* * *

_What's with this thing, _Ed thought in frustration, _with the Colonel Bastard and his minions cornering me all the time?_

This time it was Hawkeye who stood across from him, face set and expressionless, one arm resting casually by her side and the other sitting not-so-subtly on her gun. Hawkeye meant business.

She inclined her head. "Edward."

Ed backed away a few steps, looking at her warily, sensing danger in the light of her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I heard from Second Lieutenant Havoc how he got his burn this morning." As Ed froze, shoulders tensing, and Al gasped softly, head going to Edward and back, she continued, voice quiet and almost soft, "You ought to have informed us. You're a mutant, aren't you, Edward?"

Ed was staring at her with wide, stunned gold eyes, so Al answered for him, soft and subdued. "Yeah… his powers activated two years ago."

Al's voice was quiet and apologetic. Hawkeye nodded, having expected nothing less.

"The Colonel knew," Al added hastily, close to pleading, a fervent attempt at placation.

Hawkeye frowned, not having expected that. Caught between approval and disapproval, she said neutrally, "Did he?"

Al nodded quickly, hopeful.

"You are, too."

Both of them started at Ed's sudden reentry into the conversation and looked over to find Ed looking directly at Hawkeye, gold eyes certain. Well. He was a genius, after all.

Hawkeye looked faintly surprised, but Al gasped again, clearly following Ed's thought process, and Al's eyes went to hers.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, not giving anything away.

Ed wavered slightly, a candle in the wind, but then grew more confident, meeting her gaze firmly. "Even with the spreading rumors lately, most people wouldn't have instantly jumped to the conclusion that I was a mutant, and even if they didn, they would have approached it differently." He paused, hesitated, and then went on. "You weren't surprised at all when the topic first became well-known and you knew more about mutants than most of the others from the start."

Pause.

"You're right," Hawkeye said finally. Edward smirked, just the smallest bit; he knew he was. (If he hadn't, Hawkeye knew they wouldn't have heard a word of it.) "Well done. I've known I was mutant since I was seventeen, but I was using my powers a few years before that." It was hard not to.

At least hers was more or less harmless. Edward, of course, wasn't so lucky. He and his brother always did seem to get the short end of the stick.

"What can you do, Lieutenant?" Ed asked, sounding almost eager, gold eyes sparkling for the first time in days. Pleased beyond belief to have someone like him to talk to. "What's your power?"

Hawkeye smiled at his excitement – just a little. "Thermal vision." Her gaze travelled over him thoughtfully, the human spectrum flickering away for the briefest of moments, replaced by a gradient of orange, blue, and black. "And now that it occurs to me to look, your core temperature is… alarmingly hot." Sure enough, Edward was blazing orange in her vision, with a little white spot glowing just where his heart was. And then Alphonse, beside him, was cold, more so even than most inanimate objects, which was why she didn't use her power around them. It was unsettling.

Ed scowled and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. "Shut up," he mumbled, glaring somewhere to the side. Alphonse chuckled softly, the sound reverberating slightly within his armor.

Hawkeye almost smiled again, but her self-control had slipped up enough for one day. Instead, she ordered crisply, "Get a hold of yourself, Edward. Don't forget, you have work to do." They all did, in this office.

Ed sombered instantly, deflating, right hand falling to rest on his pocket watch.

Yeah, like he was ever going to be able to forget that.

* * *

Ed laid back on his bed, arms tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling. His hair was free of its normal braid, splayed out across the pillow and tangled in his fingers. Some way to the side, Al's glowing eyes were dark, in some sort of daydreamy powered-down state that Ed knew was no substitute for actual sleep.

A year.

They'd been trying to get Al's body back for an entire year now, and _nothing. _Nothing but red herrings and long-gone whispers.

Ed hated it.

Ed hated that for two years now (over seven hundred and thirty days) Al had been forced to stand long hours awake, all alone. That he hadn't been able to feel a thing, not the cool of a breeze or the soft kittens' fur he so loved or the warmth of another's skin. He hadn't been able to enjoy the taste of apple pie or the relief of sleep, not the tingle of tiredness or the gentle soreness of just a little too much activity.

He missed seeing Al's big smile and brass eyes, missed hugging his little brother tight, hearing his voice without the armor's strange echo.

And then there were other things, more recent things, more problems that just kept _piling up _and _getting in the way._

The day before, Fuhrer Bradley had announced to the public that yes, the government was considering enforcing the MXI protocol. It was in no way certain, he assured them, but it was distinctly under consideration.

The XMI protocol meant total disclosure, and Ed was no fool; he knew what the military would like to do with a power like his. He'd heard what they'd had Mustang do during the Ishvalan Massacre.

He'd never be able to get out.

And if Alphonse had a power, _he _would never be safe from the military either, not once he got his body back.

And if Amestris went to war-

The darkness was gone; the room was bright, the walls flickering with soft orange.

Al powered back to life and his eyes went straight to his brother, who was now lurching up, eyes wide and alarmed. Al yelped. _"Brother!"_

Fire flickered over Ed's bed, threatening to spread; he yelled in alarm and launched himself up and out. Al was already sketching an array onto the ground, and as Ed forced his breathing to slow, he placed his hands on it.

Blue sparks darted toward the fire, rearranging the air's molecules so that the oxygen was drawn away and the fire was only surrounded by inflammable carbon dioxide, suffocating it. Within seconds, the fire was out, and Al released the array and turned to look at his brother (not calm, but no longer borderline flaming) worriedly.

"Brother, what happened?"

Ed ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in frustration, expression dismayed and colored with the beginnings of distress. "I don't know, Al," he admitted quietly.

Fire pressed against him insistently, pulsing in his chest like a second heartbeat, and he wasn't sure he could push it back forever.

But he had to try.

* * *

Ed's latest report wasn't exactly the stuff of legends, not like some of them were. There were no exploding caves, spontaneous mini-tornadoes, or collapsed dams. But Mustang did manage to pick out one small, rather important detail.

A warehouse had burned down. And no one knew why.

Well. Mustang was willing to bet two people did. And both of them were avoiding him.

Mustang wasn't too concerned; eventually, Ed did, of course, have to come in and give his verbal report. Mustang could speak to him then. And he did – three days late.

Rather prompt, for him.

Mustang didn't spare any time in dragging (metaphorically, of course, as dragging was undignified) Edward into his private office, giving Al a curt shake of his head, indicating that he should not follow. Al made an uncertain sound, but didn't follow.

As soon as they were in, Mustang turned right to Ed, dark eyes snapping with carefully restrained ire.

"Alright, Fullmetal, enough is enough. What's going on?"

Ed crossed his arms. "Nothing!" he snapped, predictably. But he was defensive, shifting continuously, seemingly unable to stop moving. He was tapping his fingers, moving from foot to foot, messing with a loose screw on his wrist, constantly. Fullmetal was anxious.

"The _warehouse, _Fullmetal," Mustang said tightly, eyes stern and unforgiving. This was no time for joking. If something was wrong, Mustang wanted to know what; it had been over two months now, and as he'd said, enough was enough.

"Warehouses burn down all the time," Ed defended, looking away and scowling. Which would be true, in any other situation. "Who said it had anything to do with me?"

"They don't burn down without due cause," Mustang returned, not willing to give him an inch. "I thought you said you had it under control. Are you _trying _to get yourself found out?"

Ed's head snapped back up, eyes blazing angrily, water splashed on a grease fire. For just a moment, Mustang found himself staring eight into Fullmetal's unmasked eyes, betraying anger and, more importantly, fear – fear of the power he just _couldn't seem to control._

"I'm trying, okay?" Ed snapped, hands jerked down to his sides, clenched as if to hit something. "I'm fucking _trying, _and it used to be easy, yeah? Only now it's fucking _not _and-"

_And I don't know what to do._

Mustang heard the bitten-off sentence clear as day, slight wide navy eyes tracking the tiny tongues of flame etching into Ed's flushed face and fading away moments after appearing.

Mustang paused. Then he made a tactical decision.

Strictly tactical, of course.

"Fullmetal. Calm down; you're no good to anyone in this state." Mustang waited while Ed gradually forced himself to calm down, fire slowly sinking back into hiding. When Ed looked a little more composed and at least somewhat ready to listen, he continued, "Look. I'm going to say this exactly once. You're a genius, Fullmetal, but you don't know everything. Mutation isn't your specialty, alchemy is." Mustang looked at him, deadly serious, not a hint of a smirk. "If you need help, say so."

Fullmetal needed to learn how to do this someday, but Mustang knew that that day might not be today. If he didn't know he could, though, the chances went from low to just about nonexistent, and this was nothing if not a serious issue.

By this time, some of the higher-ups were starting to take notice. Even with Mustang running interference, this couldn't go on for much longer.

But of course, Edward was stubborn.

"I can do this, Colonel Bastard," Ed snapped, a hint of wildness in his tone and his eyes, close to desperation and let out as anger. He spun around and stormed out, head down, hair hiding his eyes, fists clenched and shaking slightly.

Mustang waited until he was gone before he took out the piece of paper from under his desk and stared at it awhile.

* * *

Edward and Alphonse were in Central again, trailing another report of a burned-down building. Mustang, clearly trying to keep them in Central, had ordered them and Armstrong to clear out the headquarters of a local gang.

Ed didn't know _why _Mustang wanted him in Central, not when he could feel the fire snapping and flaring just under his skin, wanting to rise, to blaze up and _destroy, _burning, searing Ed's chest like a white-hot ember resting where his heart should be.

Ed was a woodpile soaked in gasoline, and he _should not be here._

They'd almost reached the tall building now; Armstrong was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be, and Al was going a different way, slowly but better hidden.

Armstrong had insisted on a 'brilliantly undetectable' approach using 'stealth techniques passed down the Armstrong line for generations' and 'the wiles of the clever Elric brothers'.

Not that Ed didn't appreciate the praise (and most particularly Al's inclusion in it) but in this kind of mood, all he really wanted to do was barge right in and bla- _plow _right through all its occupants.

But _no, _they had to sneak.

Still, Ed supposed he could do that, too.

Ed raised his head slightly to cock an eyebrow at Armstrong, who nodded slightly in return, brow furrowed in seriousness, mouth a firm line, crouched down and looking smaller than a man his size had any right to look.

Which still wasn't very small, granted.

Ed nodded back and glanced to the taller, denser bushes where Al hid, wincing at every creak of his antique armor. Al, of course, noticed – he always did – and Ed parted from Armstrong and crawled toward Al, and they both turned around to go in the back way.

The wooden door creaked when Ed pushed it open; it also smoked. He grimaced slightly and ducked in, Al one step behind.

The room they emerged in was empty and unlit. Ed took a cautious step in, wary of an ambush, and then another, and Al's metal clang filled the room, easily covering his own uneven footsteps. Ed took another step.

Blue sparks burst to life under his feet, illuminating the room and, more importantly, the large array under his feet.

The alchemical reaction spread quickly to the edges of the room, melding the doors into the walls, and then thickening them so much as to be virtually impenetrable.

Ed let out an alarmed cry as the room shrank dramatically, startled, and his fragile grip slipped (dammit, _no) _and the fire consumed him.

They heard a bellow, too muffled to make out. Al's alarmed stare drew Ed's attention and he turned to look at a wall, watching as cracks grew from the wall facing the front.

A moment later, Armstrong came bursting through the six-foot-thick wall, completely unharmed and sending rubble flying everywhere. Al yelped and moved to cover his brother from flying debris, which pinged off him dully, sending an echo through the room (and most probably several others).

So much for subtlety.

"Elrics!" he bellowed, completely unconcerned with the wall and its Armstrong-sized hole behind him. "Are you yet unharmed? Have you been injured?"

They stared at him. Armstrong's blue eyes fell on Ed and widened.

Ed realized, belatedly, that he was still on fire and thus rather alarming to look at. He yelped again, turning to dart behind Alphonse. Armstrong's next words, robust and delighted, stopped him short.

"Edward Elric!" Ed winced and slowly looked over his shoulder, apprehensive. Armstrong, though, was beaming at him, looking one step from embracing the flaming boy. Ed thought that he actually would have, if it hand't been such a hazardous activity. Armstrong stripped his shirt and spread his arms wide, striking a classic Armstrong pose, flexing his arms happily. "It is wonderful that you could join us in this glorious advancement of mankind!"

…Huh?

Slowly, Ed's gaze travelled to the hole behind Armstrong, and the lightbulb flicked on.

"You're a mutant, too, Major?" Al questioned tentatively, one step from disbelieving. They'd never even _suspected…_

Armstrong grinned and flexed his arms again, sparkling. Ed coughed and swatted some away from his eyes. "Indeed! The mutant gene has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!" He turned serious again. "Now, let us continue on our mission to show these poor souls the strength of a State Alchemist!"

How many mutants _were _there in the Amestrian military?

* * *

It had been three months since Ed's control had first started to slip. In that time, his moods had been alarmingly volatile, even for him, fluctuating from anger to melancholy to scarcely-concealed fear and back.

Was it really any wonder that the office was becoming concerned?

This concern reached its peak when Ed was, once again, in the office. He slammed his report down on Mustang's desk and glared at him.

"Here's the report, Colonel Bastard."

An angry day, then.

Mustang glanced up at him with feigned disinterest. "Another failure, I presume?"

Ed's scowl intensified and he took his hand off the paper to clench it at his side, metal creaking with the force. Al made an anxious little sound, hovering with clear concern.

"Colonel, please," he nearly begged. Edward had been on edge all day and Al _really _didn't want him to catch fire again. Ed always got upset when he burst into flame – well, more so than he was _when _he did so.

Mustang glanced up at the armor and apparently picked up on something that they were missing, because he leaned back with a nod. "Fine. Fullmetal, you're dismissed."

Ed nodded stiffly, every line of his body screaming restraint, and spun around.

He didn't make it to the door, though; Havoc was leaning againt it, a cigarette held to his lips, face grim.

"Hey, boss," he greeted, pretending like he didn't realize that Ed was in no mood to be interrogated. Sometimes it just didn't matter. And Ed would most likely _never _want to talk about this.

Ed let out a long breath and shifted, casual posture dangerous. He already had a feel for what they wanted, and sure enough, he wanted no part of it. "Havoc."

"D'you have a moment? Us guys at the office want to talk to you."

Ed's irritation drained into wariness, and he shifted again, restless. "…Sure. I guess."

Havoc grinned, but it was clear he wasn't feeling it. "Great."

Mustang glanced up as Ed hesitantly headed for the cluster of officers, but quickly looked back down to his work as Hawkeye's pistol clicked. She was probably keeping an eye on things, anyway.

It was Fuery who opened the discussion; Ed would guess that he'd been nominated, because he certainly didn't look like he wanted to be the one to do it.

"Major," he started hesitantly, tugging anxiously at his own sleeve, though his gaze didn't waver from Ed's. "We've noticed that, well, lately…" His voice didn't fare quite so well and faltered.

Ah, Ed couldn't even get _mad _at him like this. Fortunately, at that moment, Breda cut him off.

"What he's trying to say is that it's pretty obvious that something's up, kid, and we want to know what." Breda crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Ed.

Ed flinched slightly and backed up a step; unconsciously, the officers had fanned out into a semicircle, surrounding Ed and Al and pinning them against Falman's desk.

Al noticed, too; he shifted slightly and said, in a high, nervous voice that convinced no one, "It's fine. Really! There's just been, uh, a lot going on." He stole a glance at his brother, wringing his hands worriedly.

Breda snorted. "Nice try, kid."

"In the last three months, Major Elric has smiled at the office exactly four times," Falman put in, a furrow in his brow. "Though we rarely see you outside of it, it seems unlikely that you smile much more."

Al made a pained sound. This was true.

"And Al's been worried all the time, too," Fuery provided, gaining confidence, worry in his eyes. "He hasn't been like this since the first time Major Elric got hospitalized after a mission."

This, too, was true. Ed winced visibly and took another step back, hitting the desk, which smoked slightly, making him jerk back away. A hunted look was in his eyes, anxiety rising high, breathing quickening. He felt trapped and confined and they kept asking _questions _and the fire was pulsing, pulsing…

Something like realization sparked in Havoc's eyes, and he took a step forward. "Boss, is this about the mutant thing?" Forgetting what happened last time, he reached for Ed. Ed's eyes went wide, and his cheeks flushed. "Are you-" _Scared?_

Mustang heard Hawkeye inhale sharply, and he looked up, spotted Ed's face. His eyes widened, he lurched forward, and Ed hastily jerked away from Havoc's hand, forgetting about the desk behind him.

He crashed into the desk hard, which drove the breath from his body and stole his balance from under him, eyes falling shut as he winced with the blow, one hand darting out to catch the desk and keep him from falling, sending a few papers flying. The gasp of breath from his lungs ignited a tongue of flame that blazed over his body in less than a second.

Leaning against the desk, Ed's eyes widened, meeting Havoc's shocked and alarmed ones for just an instant before more fire flared up around him as Falman's paper's caught, conflagration skittering hungrily to turn them to curling pieces of ash.

Al cried out, reaching for Ed. Ed reached back and caught his hand in a metal grip, wide gold eyes set in a face of fire, and Al, in a practiced motion, hauled him up and onto his shoulders, where Ed balanced easily, hands set on Al's helmet head, fire crackling from his clothes to lick the solid steel armor.

Ed hated it when he burned things by mistake; Al thought that this was the least he could do for his older brother. After all, Al wouldn't burn.

Mustang flicked his wrist at the flames (apparently needing some sort of flourish) and a crackle of alchemy silenced the flames, leaving most of Falman's (and some of Fuery and Breda's) papers in ashes and his desk badly scorched.

The ensuing silence was almost deafening. Ed flinched as every gaze went to him, still blazing and flickering with ember-bright intensity, heating the metal of Al's shoulders and head to a strong degree. Ed looked away, scowling. Al didn't meet their eyes, either, head dropped slightly as if in shame.

"Boss?" Havoc blurted. Painfully slowly, Ed dragged his eyes to Havoc's, but then let them drop again when the man said nothing more.

"Damn," Breda breathed, eyes tracking the curve of the flame that made up Ed's braid. Al tilted his head away.

"I didn't know it went that far," Hawkeye murmured, eyes narrowed, gaze sharp. Mustang stole a glance at her, slightly surprised, but quickly returned his gaze to Ed, navy eyes dark.

"Fullmetal." Ed flinched. "This has gone on long enough. You can't handle this yourself at all, can you?"

Mutely, Ed shook his head, ashamed.

"Handle what, _exactly?" _Falman asked cautiously, eyes on the black scorch mark on his desk, seeking confirmation for something about which he was almost certain.

It was Al who answered, voice soft and subdued, steel plates beginning to turn orange under Ed's flaming touch.

"His mutation."

* * *

It was an hour later that Ed finally flickered out. Even after that, he was quiet, and he silently helped Falman redo the burnt paperwork while Mustang set a sticky note on his desk and dialled the number, mouth a grim slash.

"Xavier Institute? This is Colonel Mustang, of the Amestrian military. I'd like to report a young mutant."

Ed felt a few gazes settle on him and bent over a little more.

* * *

**By the way, this took place over about six months. Anyway... Thank you for reviewing, Boop! You have made me very happy! The rest of you, PLEASE review this time!**


	3. Simmer

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long - this chapter was harder to write than I expected, and I didn't plan for it. *sigh* Anyway!**

**Thanks and cookies to: Boop, Kazaru13, Dark Cat Food Lover, nisemono96, The John Johnson, SherryPin, VictiniBFF, zebrastripes150802, Random 1, and one guest for reviewing.**

**Title: Foundations**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Angst/Adventure**

**Warnings: AU**

**Summary: If Edward was one thing, he was fire. But if he wasn't careful, he was going to burn himself out. Or, Edward Elric is a mutant, Mustang disapproves of him almost burning down the office, and the Xavier Institute is wary of military operatives no matter how old they are.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist or the X-Men, would I really be here right now?**

* * *

No one in Mustang's office had said a word, Ed was sure of it. They were far too loyal and they liked him and Al far too much. All the same, word of Ed's mutation had spread with a speed not seen since Ed had taken the State Alchemist exam. By the next evening, everyone from the Fuhrer in Central to the lady at the front desk knew.

Arrangements for Ed's departure were made in record time, and Saturday morning found Ed just outside East Command, gathered together with those who were seeing him off. To his surprise, there were far more than he'd expected.

Al was there, of course, sticking close to his big brother, fretting, large metal shoulders hunched with worry as he checked and double checked that yes, Ed had his bags, and yes, he would _be good._

The office, too, was there, and Ed wasn't _that _surprised, really. Mustang scanned the skies with narrowed navy eyes, and Hawkeye scanned the ground, keeping a lookout, as always. Havoc scratched his head, a cigarette perched in his mouth, looking uncomfortable and unsure of what to do with himself. Breda was eating – big surprise there. He leaned against a pole looking wholly unconcerned, but his gaze flickered in a manner that gave the game away. Falman stood straight, speaking quietly with Fuery, who looked slightly anxious, glancing with some worry at Ed. Ed looked back expectantly, and he flushed and looked away again.

To Ed's surprise (which exasperated Al – he'd told Ed, hadn't he?), the office hadn't actually minded at all, once they'd had time to get used to the idea. Havoc, having had no idea what a mutant was before six months ago, had very few preconceived notions, and even fewer prejudices. Falman cited several papers which suggested that mutants were actually the next step in human evolution, and Breda just shrugged and snorted at him.

In addition to them, Major Armstrong was also hovering, looking large and sparkling, though perhaps a little duller than usual with the mood permeating the group – it was hard to forget why they were there, and both he and Hawkeye had been in his place before, if with substantially less generally hazardous powers. Hughes wasn't there, but he'd sent his well wishes the day before, promising that he'd save the best pictures to show Ed when he returned.

Strangely, Ed wasn't reassured.

Eventually, a dot appeared on the horizon, and soon, it manifested itself into a large, black jet. Ed's eyes widened slightly, gold eyes tracking it with a hint of wonder.

Amestris' self-imposed isolationism had had a number of consequences; quite aside from minimal trade of essentials such as food and goods, its technology was years behind other countries', aside from the most important of technology. Ed knew, for example, that each military base had three computers, five in Central, and that each of the largest libraries had one as well.

There was also exactly one, little-used airport on the outskirts of Central, and Ed himself had never actually seen an airplane, there having never been one taking off or landing during his few visits to the capital city.

Beside him, Al let out a soft, awed sound of wonder, and Ed tipped his head to grin at him. The other soldiers had stood up straight, and they, too, were watching the steadily approaching airplane.

Finally, the stealth-black jet touched down in front of them, and the side opened up. A man with brown hair and dark sunglasses stepped out of it, head turning slightly as his gaze ran over them. Finally, he said aloud, voice clear and carefully neutral (which Ed thought said more than a tone ever could),

"Major Edward Elric?"

Ed's grin dropped slightly, and his head followed, gaze moving from Al to the man. "Yeah," he said with deliberate confidence, striding forward, reaching to his feet and slinging his black duffle bag – stuffed full of clothes and books and one spare leg, among other things – over one shoulder.

A surprised expression crossed the man's face, just for a moment, and was swiftly followed by a resigned, wary one – one Ed recognized from his early days as a 'dog of the military', before he was 'the Hero of the People'.

Still, the man moved to meet him, holding out one hand. Ed suspected that, behind those sunglasses, his eyes were studying Ed, measuring him carefully. That was okay. Mustang did the same thing, before.

"Scott Summers," he returned finally, shaking Ed's hand. "I'm the headmaster of the Xavier Institute." He nodded to the group. "Ready to say goodbye?"

"Yeah," Ed muttered, letting go. He turned and smiled wanly at the others. "Well, I guess it's time to go."

"Yep," Havoc agreed easily. "See ya, boss."

"We'll miss your noise," Breda added with a smirk. "Try to grow some while you're gone, yeah?"

Ed scowled at him darkly. "Who are you calling short?" he demanded, bristling slightly. Breda looked vaguely disappointed at the mild response.

"Good luck, Major," Falman put in, with Fuery nodding in agreement.

"Stay safe," Hawkeye ordered. Ed smiled a little at that, too.

"Be cautious, Edward Elric," Armstrong added, booming voice toned down to the Major's idea of an undertone. "It would not do for you to come to harm."

Ed grinned a little. "Right," he agreed readily enough. He reached and shook Armstrong's hand before Mustang's landed on his shoulder, leaving him to look up at the man with some confusion.

Mustang smiled at him slightly, a smirk on his mouth and a hint of concern in his eyes. "Well, Fullmetal, I suppose this is goodbye for now." He shook his head. "You really are a most troublesome subordinate." Ed scowled at him. Mustang's smirk widened. "Get yourself under control, understood? I want you back here within a year."

Ed gave him a considering look before smirking. "No problem, Colonel Bastard."

Mustang sighed dramatically at the name, but forged bravely on. "Don't forget, your assessment is in October. We'll have to send someone to give it to you if you aren't back by then." Here, he grumbled something about paperwork with a depressed look, making Edward snicker at him mercilessly. "And make sure you don't get lost. We're not sure how good they are at finding little people-"

_"Who're you calling little?" _Ed demanded, scowling at him. Mustang smirked.

"Oh, and-" Quietly, Mustang pulled a folder out of his jacket and gave it to Ed, who looked at it confusedly. In an undertone – a genuine undertone – he continued, "A mission, while you're there. Don't mess up, Fullmetal." He smirked. "It reflects badly on me."

Ed scowled at him again. "Egomaniac," he complained aloud. Backing away slightly and tucking the folder into his own coat, he added, "See ya, Colonel."

Mustang nodded at him, and Ed turned away, facing Al, who was looking at him, shoulders hunched and head dipped in that way that Ed knew _always _meant that Al was sad about something.

Ed offered his little brother a slight, reassuring smile. "This is it, little brother. It'll be a while before we see each other again." Regret tinged his tone, hand not holding his bag stuffed in his pocket.

"Yeah," Al agreed, subdued. Scott started visibly at Al's high, twelve-year-old voice. He perked up slightly. "I'm going to try and get a civilian visa, though. I know it's really hard-"

"Understatement," Havoc muttered. Ed wondered where he'd learned that.

"-but I think it would be worth it, especially if this is going to take a year, right, brother?"

"Right," Ed confirmed, smiling at Al. "And I promise I won't stop looking, okay? There's not a lot of information on alchemy on the outside, but I can check out a few other routes."

"OK," Al agreed, voice a little brighter. Then, sincerely, "I'll miss you, brother."

Ed shuffled his feet slightly, scuffing one foot across the ground. "I'll miss you, too, Al." He looked up, grinned, and rapped his little brother on the chest. "Take care of Winry and Granny for me, alright, Al?"

"I will," Al promised. "And be nice, okay?"

Ed rolled his eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah."

Ed smiled at Al, and Ed knew that if he could, Al would be smiling back.

Then, decisively, he turned on his heel and walked away from them, toward the jet.

"Ready," he offered to Scott, who nodded at him and then indicated for him to go first.

Ed walked on to the jet and looked back just once, waving at the group on the ground, and Al waved enthusiastically back. The two brothers waved at each other – much to the adults' amusement – right up until the huge door shut, cutting them off.

Ed sighed and dropped his arm, turning around to find Scott at the front, messing with some switches and buttons Ed was distinctly unfamiliar with.

He walked forward, looking back and forth with some curiosity, and then dropped down into a seat with a sigh, bag falling to the floor.

"So what's this?" he asked Scott, looking down at the floor, one hand drifting up to feel the folder crinkle slightly under his fingers.

"The Blackbird," Scott answered tersely, flicking another switch. "Professor Xavier's personal jet, you could say."

Ed 'hm'ed. "How's it work?"

Scott glanced back, just a flash of sunglasses before he looked back to the front. "It's not important. It's more than a little complicated."

Ed nearly snapped that he could handle complicated – he wasn't called a prodigy for nothing – but Al's voice echoed in his ears _(Brother, please be nice!) _and he sighed again. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, as much to Al as to Scott.

Silence consumed the jet, oppressive and awkward. Ed shifted slightly, scarcely-controlled heat roiling discontentedly under his skin, and turned his head to look out the window.

After a time, Scott coughed, shattering the silence but not the tension. "So… Fullmetal, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Heavy name." A brief pause. Ed noted that he seemed tense and winced. Yeah. Definitely one of _those. _"So, uh, what made you decide to join the military?"

"Personal things," Ed hedged, about as comfortable as the pilot.

Scott 'huh'ed at him, but he even he couldn't really do anything with that. A few seconds passed, and then he tried, "What kind of work do you do?"

"It varies," Ed mumbled, very much wanting out of this conversation. He hunched over a little, boring a hole into the window. "A lot of what I do isn't assigned by the military. They give me a pretty free reign."

"Mm."

Normally, Scott would ask a kid about school for conversation, but he was pretty sure that Ed didn't go to school – a job, especially a military one, wouldn't leave time for that. The problem was that that left very few open topics for conversation. Hence their current… situation.

"Who were the people you said goodbye to?" Scott tried again.

Ed hunched over a little more. "The office," he mumbled. "The Major. My little brother."

"Not your parents?" Too late, Scott realized that that had _all _the makings of a bad question.

"Mom's dead and my father's a bastard."

Scott gave up.

An hour and a half passed in deeply uncomfortable silence before the crinkling of paper sliced through the silence, loud in the enclosed space, and Scott glanced back to see Edward opening a thin folder, bored eyes scanning its contents halfheartedly. His heart dropped.

"So, uh… what's that?" he asked, as casually as he could manage.

Edward shrugged, closing the folder again and putting it away. "Assignment," he said noncommitally.

Ed didn't much like talking about the assignments he was given, especially the ones that weren't leads. If he had his way, he wouldn't do them, but he knew that really, there had been very little chance of _not _being given an assignment on this trip.

It was an opportunity the military just couldn't pass up.

Though in code – all State Alchemist assignments were – Ed could read it almost like it was written straight, he was so used to it by now. (Or maybe those were his habits as an alchemist coming through – the State code had nothing on his personal one.) Roughly translated, it was a research assignment: to figure out how mutant abilities were alchemically possible.

It was signed by the Fuhrer.

Ed sighed and looked out the window, peeking down at the clouds below them, an endless field of fluffy white. Arrays – to make clouds from water vapor, to make rainclouds from regular clouds, to disperse clouds into the surrounding air, anything – ran absently through his mind, a side effect of his trip through the Gate.

The Gate had irrevocably changed the way he saw things, the way he saw everything. Alchemy, once his passion, became a part of himself, inseparable from his personality or his instincts.

The same as that, his mutation had changed him. He knew he'd always been a little too bright – in more ways than one – and too hot-tempered for his own good, but after his mutation awoke, it magnified, exacerbating little quirks into huge, glaring traits.

Edward knew better than anyone, save Alphonse and maybe the Rockbells, that he'd changed after the transmutation, he didn't need to be told. He wasn't sure it was for the better, either – but then again, he'd never again do anything so monumentally _stupid._

He sighed, a low, soft sound that had Scott glancing over at him for a brief moment before he returned his attention the controls that Ed was so curious about.

Ed was getting better about knowing what he could and couldn't handle, but not by much. Still, he'd have liked to have been able to control his own _ability._

Fire mimicry. That was for sure, Ed thought bitterly. Harder to control for the fact that it was more than just a power, it was a trait in and of itself, spilling over from 'ability' into himself the same way alchemy had. Not only that, but it was a constant presence in him.

Edward Elric had once been a boy with a hot temper and gold eyes and that was it. That was all. Now he had a fire in his heart and arrays at his fingertips to go with it, and he was something more than he had ever wanted to be.

He huffed and leaned his head against the window, letting his eyes fall shut. But there was nothing he could do about it – he just had to push past it, push past everything. There was no getting their old life back, but if he tried, if he just tried hard enough- he could make sure Al got something close to it. Not the same, never again, but close enough.

And that would be good enough for Ed.

Without meaning to, Ed fell asleep.

It took a few more hours of Scott debating with himself, but finally, he sighed, set the Blackbird to autopilot, and stood up, striding toward the sleeping boy and picking up the abandoned folder, anxiety niggling at him insistently.

Anxiety that only magnified when his eyes fell upon… an overdue tax notice.

The assignment was coded.

Scott's frown deepened, he closed the folder again, and turned away, heading back for the controls and settling at them, willing himself deliberately not to look back to Ed.

They'd need to watch him.

Ed woke up just as they touched down, and Scott nodded at him shortly before leading him off the jet, leaving Ed to sweep his bag back up and follow.

He looked around, gold eyes wide with startlement and a little, excited smile on his face, taking in the huge mansion that was Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

People scurried about, some intent on their destination, a few carrying papers, others absorbed in conversation with the people beside them. Some hovered around the grounds, clustered in little groups engaged in avid conversation, and one or two were stationed in place, reading or drawing.

"This way, Fullmetal," Scott said, drawing Ed's attention back to him. "You need to meet with Professor Xavier before you do anything else."

Ed nodded and followed the man, going back to looking around.

It wasn't a bad place, really. Ed spotted a library out of the corner of his eye – not of a bad size, either – and wondered if there were any worthwhile avenues of investigation on the outside. It was definitely worth considering.

Well, if Ed had to get help – which he _hated _doing, by the way, screw you, mutant power – he supposed that there were worse places.

Down the marble hallway, around more corners than Edward cared to count, and finally, Scott stopped before a door and knocked.

"Professor, I have Fullmetal."

Within moments, a voice, soft and pensive, answered. "Very well, send him in."

Scott nodded to Ed, who nodded back, shifting uncomfortably, reached out, turned the doorknob, and entered, while Scott lingered just outside.

Inside, the man who must have been Charles Xavier was already looking at him, gaze steady, mouth pulled in a taut, but slight, frown, hands intertwined and in his lap as he sat in his wheelchair, tension visible in the line of his shoulders and caution in the shadow of his eyes.

Still, that in no way detracted from the courtesy in his voice as the man greeted, "Edward Elric. Welcome to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Ed straightened up slightly and offered a small smile. "Thanks."

He could get used to being here, Ed told himself. People would warm up to him eventually, he would get everything done that he needed to here, and everything would be fine. Just fine.

"Edward." Edward glanced back up to Professor Xavier, not having realized that he'd dropped his gaze. "I wish you to have a good time here, but I must remind you of a few things before I send you off." Ed nodded, looking at him expectantly. "This is both a school and a sanctuary. As such, I would remind you that you must conduct yourself as such. The safety of my students, you understand, is my top priority."

Oh.

Ed looked away, unable to keep his fists from clenching slightly as the hope that had come when he knew that he was going to get help with his – _problem – _started to trickle and spin, as if down a drain. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. He got his drift, alright.

Xavier smiled. It did nothing to soften the sting of his words. "Thank you, Edward. You may go."

Ed nodded, still not looking at him, and turned, pushing his way roughly out the door.

Whatever. He just had to get this done fast, was all. In and out. A rudimentary search of the library would tell him if there was anything worth looking into concerning getting Al's body back, then maybe a week or two to figure out about mutant powers, if he tried hard. After that, he'd be free as soon as he got a handle on his own powers.

That was it.

As Scott led Ed down the hall again, Ed's bad temper danced across his face, and he was more acutely aware of the flames surging in his chest than he had been since he'd caught fire in – and to – the Colonel's office. It seemed that Scott could tell, too, because he was even more quiet and cautious than he had been thus far.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door and nodded at Ed. "This'll be your room, Fullmetal. John, your roommate, is a fire user as well, so it's already fireproof."

Ed nodded and pushed the door open. Scott followed him in and a boy inside, leaning back on his bed, halfheartedly reading a book, looked up with a raised eyebrow and then said irritably, "Who the hell's that?"

Ed instinctively scowled back, one fist clenching, automail tightening around the strap of his duffle bag. Before he could snap at the other boy, though, Scott answered,

"John, this is Edward Elric. He's a new student from Amestris, and he'll be staying with you for the time being." His voice lowered slightly as he continued, dusty dry like a hot desert, "He's also a part of their military, so please try not to cause an international incident."

Both John and Ed scowled at him for that one, but Scott just pulled out a timetable and gave it to Ed. "This is your timetable while you're here. Normally, you wouldn't have classes on a Saturday, but you need to take placement tests to determine if you're up to standard, seeing as you've been… occupied."

Ed refrained from snarking at the headmaster and instead nodded, taking the timetable without a word (if he said anything, he wasn't sure he could stick to Al's request). He scanned it quickly, dropping his bag on the second, clearly unused bed.

Scott turned to leave and nodded to them both, but if he said anything as he left, Ed didn't hear it.

Honestly, if there was one thing Ed _didn't _want to do right now, it was go take tests. Despite having slept for a good deal of the way there, he was tired, and just generally wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right then and there.

But, as usual, there was work to be done first.

"So. Military, huh?"

The sneer in John's voice was unmistakeable, matching the one Pinako had once held in her own, before Ed had joined, and Ed barely spared him a glance up as he resigned himself to his fate. "That's right. Just over a year now. That a problem?" Meeting challenge for challenge.

John just snorted, derisive, and slumped back again, going back to scanning the pages. "Nah. Don't have time for assholes."

"Neither do I," Ed snapped back, so _done _with these people and their _assumptions _and the utter _crap _that accompanied them. He turned and stamped out, intent on finding the first class, Chemistry. Under his breath, he added, "And this place just has too damn many of them."

After some fair amount of searching, he found it, and the teacher nodded at him with a forced, small smile _(not again) _and handed him his test.

To his surprise – he had been out of conventional schooling for years now, after all – the test was beyond easy, not even requiring half a moment's thought from question to question. He finished it within half an hour and handed it back.

English was harder; the skills and information on the test weren't exactly things he used on a regular basis, unlike Chemistry, so he found himself drawing from every reference to them he could recall being mentioned in passing, whether by Pinako or Mustang or Izumi, or anyone else, for that matter.

Come lunchtime, he hadn't had any time to meet anyone, so he got his lunch without a word and found himself sitting alone. He didn't mind so much, or rather, he wouldn't have, had word of him and his apparently dubious origins not clearly spread far and wide, inducing more whispering than Ed cared for.

He ignored it the best he could, but the sinking feeling in his gut was harder to push back, and he felt feverish, fire becoming a real threat if he couldn't _calm the hell down _soon.

After lunch came more tests, some of which were painfully easy, and others, like History, a bit harder. Nothing some reading wouldn't clear up, Ed supposed, but also not worth his time, not when he had other things he needed to do.

It was past four by the time he finished all of them and Ed was _exhausted, _but of course, there would be none of that, not yet; the moment he walked out of the last classroom, yawning, he heard,

"Edward."

He started slightly, fire flashing across his face and disappearing again almost too fast to see, and turned his head to see a woman striding toward him, with white hair and a businesslike look. "Yeah?" he asked cautiously.

She stopped in front of him and stood confidently, comfortable in her own skin. He tipped his head back slightly to look at her as she said crisply, "Call me Storm. The Professor asked me to be the one to help you with your ability, as we don't have a fire mutant on staff at the moment."

He blinked for a moment, stifled a yawn, and nodded. "Alright." He tipped his head at her curiously. "What can you do?"

She smiled slightly, turning on her heel and walking away, an unspoken order to 'follow' in her wake. "I control the weather," she explained. "Anything from rainclouds or wind to lightning."

He smiled a little, too. "That's cool," he told her honestly. "All I can do is set myself on fire."

She smiled wryly. "That's an interesting way of putting it."

He shrugged, muffling another yawn. "So what are we doing?"

"We're going to one of the training rooms," Storm explained, turning a corner. "The mansion has several of them set up, for obvious reasons, with various degrees and types of reinforcements. For instance, I learned to control my powers in a room where everything was fastened down and waterproof. On the other hand, everything in the room you'll be using is inflammable."

He 'huh'ed thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"We won't be working on control today," she added. "Right now, we're just going to go over what you know so far." She opened a door. "Here we are."

Ed followed her into the room and looked around. It was well lit, colored a soft, warm orange, more of a sunset color than a creamy one. A few tables were set up with various metal implements, and nearly everything he saw was either metal or stone, nothing that would catch fire or melt easily.

Storm sat him down at one of the tables, taking a seat across from him. "So, Edward. Do you have any idea of how your powers work, on a technical scale?"

Ed stifled yet _another _yawn and thought for a moment. He'd actually contemplated this quite a few times; it had intrigued his scientist side ever since the ability had popped up. "If I had to guess, the mutant gene gives me the ability to increase my temperature until it spills over, when my mass is temporarily converted into thermal energy given partially solid form, somewhere between real mass and real energy. When I deactivate my power, it converts back like nothing ever happened." After a pause, he added, "I'm also immune to burns, even when I'm like this."

And a good thing too, or else his automail would burn him badly every time he cooled down from that state. And that would _suck._

She blinked, once, and then laughed lightly. "Oh, that's right. You're an alchemist, aren't you?"

If there was a brittle undertone to her voice, well, Ed wasn't about to mention it. Instead, he nodded, looking at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Well, I'll admit that's more than I expected. Now, there's just one more thing before I'll let you go. Care to demonstrate?"

He nodded, having expected that, and stood up from his chair, pushing away from it with some reluctance and moving closer to the middle of the room. He turned to face her, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held it for one, two, three…

He exhaled, and fire bloomed from his chest, warmth encasing him and flooding his entire body, turning feverish heat to something more like a very warm day, and with the struggle to repress it released, excited energy buzzed along his limbs and set his mind to work.

See, the thing people didn't get was that Ed _liked _being on fire. It was a feeling second only to the rush of alchemy – in fact, Ed would have to say that it was remarkably similar. He just didn't like it when he accidentally caused damage when in this state, which happened on a fairly consistent basis.

An interested 'mm' drew his attention back to Storm, who looked him up and down thoughtfully. The happy rush faded quickly as her gaze lingered on his right arm and left leg – despite both being concealed, the fact that no fire flickered out from beneath his clothes there was blatantly obvious, and he scowled at her. She asked anyway.

"Edward, what's wrong with your arm and leg?"

Ed scowled hard at her and crossed his arms. "None of your damn business," he snarled, head jerking away. They disliked him enough, he didn't need any more of their _crap _because of anything more.

He was tired, he was _grumpy, _and he wanted nothing more to do with any of them, not today and, if it wasn't so strictly necessary, not ever.

Storm was undeterred. "Is there some sort of block?"

_"None of your damn business!" _Ed repeated, trying not to stomp his foot. Despite himself, the orange of his fire lightened, intensity increasing with his temper.

Storm saw it, of course, and thankfully, she let it go – for now. Ed wasn't fool enough to think she wouldn't go back to it later, especially since she was clearly under the impression that it was a psychological problem.

Which it wasn't.

Dammit.

Ed forced himself to look back to her as she sighed again and conceded, "I think that's enough for today, but-" Of course there was a but. "-we'll be getting back to that later." And of course that was it. "For now, I want you to put yourself back out." Heh, so she was going with his chosen terminology, then.

Ed took a deep breath, both forcing himself to calm down and suffocating his fire, which was _not _his favorite way of doing this (admittedly, his favorite way of doing this was to let himself burn out, which took _hours)_. But, nonetheless, after a few minutes, it flickered and died, and he solidified back into his natural fleshy form. She nodded at him.

"Good."

He huffed slightly, the tension back around his chest, and turned and left, completely unable to get away fast enough, anger not yet gone.

John was in the room when he returned, flicking a lighter absently, but he turned a moody glare on Ed the moment he entered the room. He didn't say anything, just glared, and Ed scowled back as he went to his duffle bag and snatched out a set of pajamas (complete with socks, seeing as he didn't want to get roped into explaining his automail) and the cordless phone that was in the room. Then he turned toward the bathroom, and if he thought he was going to escape comment, he was wrong.

"What, afraid to change in front of other people?"

Ed snarled at him silently and slammed the door behind him, entering the dual-sink bathroom (which contained one shower) in a huff. He showered quickly and skipped his maintenance, instead going straight for the phone and dialling a number he knew by heart.

"Rockbell Automail, Winry speaking."

"Hey, Winry," he said, unable to hide the restlessness in his tone. "Can I talk to Al?"

"Oh, I see how it is," she huffed, but she seemed to hear something in his tone and passed him off to Alphonse quickly enough, which at the moment was all Ed cared about. (He'd probably be paying for that later, though.)

"Brother!" Al's voice was familiar and pleased. "That was fast. I thought you'd be busy."

The tension fled from Ed's body and he slid to the ground, leaning against the wall tiredly. "Yeah, well…" Okay, he had nothing. Well, nothing that wouldn't worry Alphonse. "You got to the Rockbells alright, then?"

"Yeah," Al agreed easily. "What about you, brother? Did your journey go well?"

Yep. Hours with a person who had something-or-other against the military. It went great. "Well enough."

Ed and Al talked back and forth for easily half an hour before Ed decided that yes, he really did have to go, John's banging on the door was getting irritating. They said their goodbyes and he passed by his none-too-friendly roommate without a second glance or an ounce of regret, and the door slammed behind the other boy as Ed collapsed into bed, sighing and lifting his gaze to the ceiling.

Yeah, it was going _great._

* * *

**So this takes place about four years before the first X-Men movie, and also I don't normally work in that universe so feel free to correct me if something's wrong. This was actually supposed to cover a little more than it did, but it was getting a little, ehm, long. As in, this is maybe a little over a third of what I had planned for the chapter. But. Anyway. Please review!**


	4. Solar Flare

**A/N: Urgh. I'm not even going to make excuses this time. Wait, one. SCHOOL STARTED. Geh. Also, me and a friend of mine are writing an original work, and a lot of my time is spent on that because she's a SLAVE DRIVER.**

**Thank you to Random 1, Dark Cat Food Lover, Breyannia, Black Blood of the Red Rose, In Love, KTfanfic, gundamzbd36, liliDreamer89, DancingShadow82, Lunas13, bloodynessie, Cherlipon, LDK, and Guest for reviewing.**

**Title: Foundations**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Angst/Adventure**

**Warnings: AU**

**Summary: If Edward was one thing, he was fire. But if he wasn't careful, he was going to burn himself out. Or, Edward Elric is a mutant, Mustang disapproves of him almost burning down the office, and the Xavier Institute is wary of military operatives no matter how old they are.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist or the X-Men, would I really be here right now?**

* * *

_It was dark. Ed couldn't see. Everything was gone._

_Then it wasn't dark anymore and Ed still couldn't see, because it was all too bright, pure white, and that could only mean-_

_"Oh, Mr. Al-chem-ist."_

_Ed stiffened up and he didn't want to turn around, but he did. His eyes fell on the shadowed outline of the Truth, marked out by that mirthful grin._

_"What price have you paid for your sins, Mr. Al-chem-ist? Do you really think an arm and a leg will suffice for stepping into my territory _and _for what you did to your brother? What you always do to those around you?" The Truth chuckled as Ed stepped back, eyes wide and scared. "You're so funny, Mr. Al-chem-ist. What do you think I should take next?"_

_"What do you think I should take next?"_

**_"What do you think I should take next, Mr. Al-chem-ist?"_**

Ed sat bolt upright and woke with a gasp, eyes wide and sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead, a dangerous flush spread across his cheeks. It was a moment before his breathing slowed down and the flush faded, Edward registering where he was.

Right. The Institute. He'd gotten there just the day before.

Edward sighed and laid back, catching his breath for a moment, and then rolled out of bed. _Time to face the day, Elric._

He smiled bitterly. Just another morning.

Edward dressed quickly and headed for – he checked the time and winced – lunch.

Ed made his way swiftly through the half-occupied halls and got his lunch, locating an empty table to eat at. He sat down and focused on his sandwiches, eating the first absently, finger tapping the table, foot tapping on the floor.

He didn't have class that day, so Ed figured he could get a start on his research. His mind wandered off in that direction as he ate, noting with a wince that the bread grew warm as he gripped it.

He was pulled from his thoughts when someone cleared their throat behind him. He set the sandwich down, not really hungry anyway, and turned to the man expectantly.

The man regarded him for a moment, and then said, "I'm Gambit, cher. Now c'mon. Tha professor wants ta see ya."

Ed shrugged, nodded, and stood up, throwing his food away and following the man out.

"What's he want?" Ed asked Gambit, looking up at him.

Gambit shrugged. "Don' know. Guess you'll have ta find out, hm?"

Ed shrugged again and looked to the front.

They reached the office soon enough and Gambit took off again just about right away, leaving Ed to enter alone.

The Professor was in the same place as before, waiting for Ed, that same, slightly friendly, slightly forbidding expression on his face. Ed wondered how he could pull that off, then decided that Mustang probably could too. He might even suggest it if the bastard caught him in a good mood.

Professor Xavier almost smiled – right, telepath – but the expression cleared away as Ed cocked his head at him expectantly, shifting restlessly, constantly, from foot to foot.

"Edward," Xavier greeted amiably. Ed glanced at him warily, still shifting, putting his hands in his pockets and pulling them out. Something about this was agitating him, and his fire was responding in a way he wasn't comfortable with. "You did quite well on your tests yesterday."

"Yeah," Ed replied cautiously. "Most of them weren't that hard."

"I'd almost think you had help." Xavier's eyes were piercing.

To his credit, Ed didn't hear a hint of pre-made assumptions in his voice or see them in his eyes, but his heart still dropped, fever heat clouding his mind slightly. "No. No help." He raised his chin, gold eyes challenging Xavier to accuse him again.

Xavier chuckled slightly, not put off in the least, fingers tapping as he kept his gaze on Ed, unwavering. "Hm. You're quite a smart boy, Edward. I don't believe there's much we can teach you in the way of science or math, so I suppose you'll have that time to yourself."

Ed shifted, once, right to left, again, left to right. "Can I spend that time in the library?"

Xavier eyed him curiously. "Certainly, if you wish."

Ed brightened slightly, put his hands in his pockets, took them out, and said, "Great! Was that it, Professor?"

Xavier made as if to smile. "Yes, it was. Good day, Edward."

Ed nodded, turned, and darted out. Waiting just outside the door was Scott, and he waved once. Scott nodded curtly back and Ed's face fell, deflating as Scott turned away, not noticing.

Ed headed off to the library and Scott entered Xavier's office, where Xavier tilted his head at him expectantly.

"Yes? Scott, what is it?"

Scott's face was unreadable. "His commanding officer gave him a folder before he left."

The gentle smile fell away, and Xavier's face grew grave. "I see. Do you know what it said?"

Scott shook his head. "No." He paused, weighed his words, and said finally, "It was in code."

Xavier's face sombered further, and he nodded. "I see," he repeated. "Thank you, Scott."

"What are you going to do about it?" Scott asked.

Xavier sighed. "I will give the boy a chance to come forward with it. If he does not…" He trailed off, but Scott understood. Child or not, Xavier would not leave a threat on the school grounds.

* * *

Ed was planning to go to the library, he really was, but he spotted the bored-looking boy – just about his age – sitting by himself under the tree and his feet changed course without his permission, approaching him.

The boy started and looked up as he approached. As soon as he realized who he was – with features as distinctive as Ed's, he apparently didn't need the introduction – he tensed, face going uneasy. Ed pretended not to notice and sat down a few feet away, smiling.

"Hey," he greeted, rubbing one hand across his arm restlessly, right heel tapping the ground. "My name's Ed. What's yours?"

He could make friends. He _could._

Sort of. Usually he had Al with him at this stage. His smile dimmed slightly and the boy continued to eye him warily.

"Bobby," the boy said finally, when it became clear that Ed wasn't going to go away.

Ed made himself keep smiling, rubbing up and down his automail arm, heating up. How did Al make this look so easy? "Hi, Bobby. Hey, do you mind showing me where the library is?" He'd had Scott point it out to him earlier, but it was a good conversation starter, right?

Bobby pointed. Yep, that was the library. And now he no longer had an excuse to stay here. Ed's heart sank.

"Thanks," Ed told him. Bobby nodded silently and Ed stood up, turned, and left.

Dammit, how did Al make that look so easy?

* * *

Ed didn't try that again. Despite what Mustang and Al seemed to think, Ed wasn't actually into self-inflicted pain, and by the end of the day, he was jittery as a drop of water on a hot pan.

He took the phone into the bathroom, ignored John's cursing, and called Winry's house again.

It was Al who picked up this time. "Brother?"

"Hey, Al," Ed greeted, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the wall, left hand rubbing his knee, bouncing in place slightly, right foot dragging back and forth across the tile. "How's it going in Amestris?"

"Really well," Al replied, cheerful as usual. "I got started on trying to get that civilian visa. Lieutenant Havoc's right, brother, it really is hard. But the Colonel's helping me, so I think I'll be able to do it soon, okay?"

Ed smiled a little, bouncing slowing to a stop, though his hand and foot never faltered. "That's great," he told Al.

"What about you, brother?" Al asked, sounding worried. "Have you made any friends?"

No. "I'm working on it."

"Good." Ed could hear Al's smile; it was something of a comfort, something he'd clung to over the past two years. Even if he couldn't see it, he could always hear it.

They talked back and forth until Ed got bored of listening to John bang on the door, at which point he sighed.

"I have to go, Al. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, brother," Al said softly. "I miss you."

"…I miss you too, Al."

He hung up and sighed, then, reluctantly, stood up and opened the door. John was frowning at him, and Ed forced a smirk and passed him, missing the way John's slight frown followed him out, before John went in and shut the door behind him.

* * *

"And extinguish."

Ed gritted his teeth and held his breath, squashing out his flame like a cloth wiping away water. It got a little easier each time, but, conversely, the pressure in the pit of his stomach was building, an ember nestled there as if to stay.

He looked up at Storm, who nodded at him. "Not bad for the end of your first week," the white-haired woman conceded, offering a halfhearted smile. "Extinguishing seems to be getting easier for you."

Ed nodded, shifting left to right. "Yeah, it is." Right to left. "Practice makes perfect, I guess."

"Very true," she agreed, smiling tightly. "Still not ready to tell me what's up with your arm and leg?"

Left to right. Right to left. He shook his head. If he could get through this without ever sharing anything about himself, at this point, he would. And if he got out of here tomorrow, it would be one day too slow.

She let it go and motioned for him to sit down at the table. He did, and almost instantly started tapping the table with one automail finger, resting his cheek on his flesh hand.

Ed was tired – he wasn't sleeping well – but he was restless, completely restless, and he knew exactly why, which didn't exactly help. After this session, he'd cooled off noticeably, which meant he could still handle books safely, but that didn't do anything for the energy surging under his skin.

"You're getting faster at switching between states," she continued, as though she'd never asked the question. "But it almost looks like it hurts to put yourself out. Does it?"

Ed shook his head again. _Tap tap._ No, it didn't hurt. _Tap tap tap._ It was uncomfortable, sure – forcing the transition back always was – but it didn't hurt and he'd had worse, anyway. _Tap tap. Tap tap._

She nodded, satisfied. "We'll work on partial transitions later. But your problem was control, correct?"

He nodded. _Tap tap. _"Yeah. I caught fire in the Colonel's office, and I'd been, uh… running hot, for a while before that."

She 'hm'ed. "And you haven't been getting much better at controlling your temperature, in either form." She paused, thinking a moment. "We'll see about that," she said finally, though she couldn't hide her sudden tension. _Tap tap tap. _"We'll meet again the day after tomorrow."

He nodded in acceptance, tapping his foot against the floor.

He was tired, but he couldn't stop moving. He sighed and shut his eyes for a moment, but opened them again when Storm asked casually,

"You know, I've known all this time that you've been in the military, but I don't think I've ever asked you about it. What's it like?"

Ed tensed, too, golden gaze falling to the floor and mouth twisting into something between a scowl and a frown. Reluctantly, though, he admitted, "Not as bad as you'd think. My CO is pretty…" He gritted his teeth. "Loose… with me. Lets me do my own thing most of the time." He glanced up at her and forced a smirk. _Tap tap tap. _Pretending he didn't see the look in her eyes. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He'll get a big head if he thinks I like him." Smirked. "Well, a bigger head."

"And what do you do for them?"

He liked Storm, Ed reminded himself. Storm hardly ever let her opinion of his choices get in the way, and he liked her. And she was making an effort. The least he could do was not sabotage it. He wasn't going to survive the time it took to gain control if he didn't have at least one person he got along with. "Whatever Mustang asks me to," he answered finally. "He lets me research most of the time."

Storm forced a smile, feigned interest on her face. He appreciated the effort, Ed reminded himself. "What sorts of things do you research?"

Maybe he didn't.

He chose the answer Mustang had told him to give, which he didn't normally, because if people didn't know what you were looking for, they couldn't help. "Top secret. Not allowed to say."

Wrong answer. Storm's expression closed off – _tap tap tap – _and she smiled, all fake. "I see. Well, I suppose it's time for you to go, Edward. I'll see you next session."

Ed, expression gone uncomfortable, nodded and hopped up. Shifted left to right, right to left, left to right, and then waved at Storm and left.

Could have gone worse, he supposed.

Could have gone a lot better, too.

* * *

Later that day, Kitty was passing by the Professor's office, and she heard the new student's name. Her interest piqued, she paused curiously.

"And Edward has told you nothing?" That was Professor Xavier, voice heavy. Kitty spared a moment to wonder why, but her interest soon passed over to the other person – Storm, Kitty realized.

"No. He's as silent as ever."

Xavier sighed. "I see. How goes his progress?"

It was Storm that sighed this time. She must be in charge of his training, Kitty realized. It made sense – while mutant types were by no means set into firm categories, Storm and Edward Elric were both distinctly forces of nature. Kitty thought wistfully of what that would be like, then decided it would be awful and listened instead.

"Not well, I'm afraid." Kitty frowned. Edward was a little scary, sure – his eyes were strange and intent and kind of creepy, and Kitty was a little scared just because he was apparently in the notoriously violent Amestrian military – but having an out-of-control power was awful for anyone, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy. "He still has problems extinguishing himself, and I've never known him to be at a normal temperature, which could easily become problematic."

"I see." Xavier paused, pensive, and Kitty held her breath. "Well, we'll work on him. And others?"

Kitty sighed and moved on, thinking for a long moment, but then she shook her head and tucked her thoughts away.

* * *

"Hey, Al."

"Hi, brother." Al sounded cheerful; that was good. Ed smiled a little, tapped the wall. "How was your day?"

Got avoided. Strange looks from John. The teachers all pretended he didn't exist. He was pretty sure Gambit had shot him a nasty look, which was disappointing but ultimately fine. He just wanted out of this place, really, which was a problem because, despite what Storm said, he knew he wasn't actually making any progress. He was too emotionally out-of-whack, which wasn't changing anytime soon. "Fine." He overruled Al's inevitable protest by asking, "What about yours?"

Successfully distracted – he must be out of practice, Ed thought wistfully – Al beamed through the phone. "Great! I'm helping out around East Command – the office says hi, by the way." He'd moved on from Winry's to stay at East City the day before. He said it would be nice to see the office for more than a few days for once, which made Ed feel a little guilty. "The first step is all done, so I can get started on the paperwork I need for the visa."

"Yeah? That's good." Tap tap tap.

"Yeah!" Al agreed enthusiastically. "Oh, you remember that nice flower shop lady?"

Ed 'mm-hm'ed expectantly.

"Well, I was helping fix things around her shop earlier-"

This went on for some time, and Ed listened contentedly to his brother talking, not talking much himself, just tap-tap-tapping the floor.

Finally, Al stumbled over a mention of East Command, and Ed's attention sharpened.

"Al?"

Al hesitated, and the clank of shifting armor came over the phone. But, finally, almost too quietly to be heard, Al said, "And… it passed, brother."

Ed's heart sank, but he asked anyway. "What passed?"

"The XMI protocol."

For a long, too long, minute, both of them were silent, light gone like a smothered candle.

"…Oh," Ed managed, head dropping, drawing up his knees and resting his chin on them.

Al may not have said it, not out loud, but his hesitation was an open book to Ed. The main reason, no doubt, that it had gone through – at least so soon – was because of him.

_Where else can they hide, _they must have been asking, _if they can even be under our own noses? In our military? Where else can they hide, who else can be a mutant, if our very own People's Alchemist is one?_

Ed smiled bitterly – just another thing he'd messed up for other people.

"It's not that bad, brother," Al said after a moment, voice going for encouraging, coming out uncertain, worried. "Mutants need to register with the military, so they have a masterlist now, and mutants in the military wear a special insignia next to their rank. Lieutenant Hawkeye has one, and Major Armstrong, and I think one of the regular soldiers. Frederick, I think. It looks really cool, brother, I think you'll like it."

"Oh," Ed repeated softly. Then, trying to perk up his voice, he said, "Part of the uniform, Al. No way I'm wearing it anyway."

Al was silent, and Ed deflated. Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

He could feel the topic change before Al even started speaking.

"Brother? How are things really going over there?"

"…Fine, Al. I told you."

"Oh."

They both knew Ed was lying, and they both knew Al didn't believe him for a moment. He'd watched Ed pretend he was fine too often for that, and Ed suddenly wondered if that was why Al had sounded so unusually cheerful, even for him. Why he'd been so reluctant to bring up the XMI protocol.

Ed suddenly worried that if something went wrong, Al wouldn't tell him.

"Anyway!" He forced himself to perk up, better than before. "How's Winry? Was she alright when you left?"

It was a poor change of topic, but Al accepted it anyway, bless him. "Winry's good, brother. She mentioned something about a new design for your automail before I left."

"Really?" Ed wondered if he should wince or be pleased. "What's it do?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think she said something about finer movement controls…"

Al talked and Ed listened, oxygen granted to a sputtering fire.

* * *

A week and a half in, Edward was again called into Professor Xavier's office, and Xavier looked at him with those same piercing eyes. Ed almost felt that something was a little different from the previous few times – that things had shifted a little to the darker side.

Uneasily, Ed dismissed the thought and focused on the Professor.

"Edward," Xavier greeted. "How are you?"

_Just great, _Ed thought bitterly. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" Xavier pressed, leaning forward just a little. In response, Ed leaned back, gold eyes looking at the blue ones uneasily. Left to right. Right to left. Left to right. Clench, unclench, tap tap. "Edward, is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?"

Things, so many things came to Ed's mind that they fell over each other, jumbling. Everyone seemed to have the wrong idea, he didn't like it here at all, his training was no longer helping at all and he was in fact getting worse.

Ed opened his mouth and all that came out was, "No, nothing."

"I see."

Yeah, Xavier seemed to say that about him a lot. Ed's eyes shifted down. Right to left, left to right, tap tap tap, tap tap tap. He burned, ember in his stomach, heat in his skin. He couldn't even go to the library anymore – the training cooled him down, but never for long, not anymore.

"Very well, Edward. You may go."

Ed barely gave himself time to flash Xavier a forced smile before he virtually fled, and, silently, Xavier promised to himself,

_One more chance._

Three days later, two full weeks into Ed's stay, the boy still hadn't come forward, and so, one last time, Xavier called him into the office. Ed looked at him confusedly – with good reason, Xavier admitted.

"Edward." Xavier paused. Weighing his words. "Scott told me that you were given a coded assignment before you left." He paused again. Considering. Hesitant and suspicious. His piercing blue eyes settled on Edward, who was paling rapidly. "What was it?"

One moment. Two, three. Four. Five. Xavier waited.

"What?" Ed managed. It was almost more than he could say, like smoke coughed out of his throat, scraping against it roughly, leaving it raw.

Was that what all of this had been about? All of it? Or even most of it. Ed swallowed, heat roiling, steaming, anger and hurt and betrayal and _why was everyone so damned suspicious, _he'd just wanted _help _was all, and this was why he _didn't, _because it let people-

Was this it? All because of… Just… Just the…

"It was a _research assignment!" _Ed burst out, breath darting in and out like the air was poison and he couldn't get enough, face flushing deep red. "A research assignment! Is this… is this why…" He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and, silently, screamed, anger and hurt and _this wasn't fair, _it _wasn't, _what was, what was-

Temper and misery mixed together and boiled over and Ed was burning, gone to flame faster than even he could process, burning a bright orange-tinted white, hot and harsh, flames angry under his clothes, flickering furiously in an unseen wind.

"Mustang asked me to research how mutant powers worked!" Ed spat out, fists clenched, gold eyes on a startled Xavier. "That was it! It was in code because I'm a _State Alchemist, _and _all _of my assignments are in code! _That was it!"_

Ed glared at Xavier, hurt and anger and too-bright gold eyes set in solid flame, and he whirled and flame flicked behind him and he rushed blindly out the door, unable to even look at the Professor anymore.

Out, Ed wanted out. Somewhere he wouldn't burn the world. Somewhere the world wouldn't burn him back. Somewhere, _somewhere…_

Xavier stared after him, eyes wide, back stiff, and suddenly, far too late, realized that, somewhere along the way, he'd done something very, very wrong.

And he was fairly certain that it had been in the very beginning.

Kitty was walking in the hall when a flame blew past her, and when she turned, startled, all she saw was a flicker of fire and a glimpse of a bright red coat, but that was enough to tell her who it was, and she frowned, worry creasing her forehead.

Bobby was under his tree when he saw a flash and looked up. _Fire. _He frowned, recognized the bright red coat, and remembered an awkward boy who asked him where the library was.

John flicked his light open, closed, open, and looked up sharply, finding a boy – Edward, for certain – shooting past him, bright with fire and quick with distress, toward the paved, covered play area, where no one was on a nice day like this. He flicked his lighter, open, closed, and then sighed, pocketed it, and pushed off the wall to head after him, scowling to himself.

* * *

**Yes, this is remarkably similar in many ways to the second chapter. Shuddup. *pout* And no points for whoever guessed Ed's new friends, by the way. This is a little on the short side for this story, I know, but it fit.**

**Also, several people have asked about Wolverine. THIS TAKES PLACE ABOUT FOUR YEARS BEFORE THE FIRST X-MEN MOVIE. Thus, Wolverine has not arrived yet, and is wandering around senselessly... somewhere. Don't worry, he shows up later in the story. Just... MUCH later.**

**Also, I have finally decided that this takes place in the original anime. I don't know if I've said anything to the contrary - let me know if I have - because I wasn't originally planning to put it there. But. It is now, alright? Please review!**


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